


will you be there in my darkest hour

by cool_pineapple (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, And angst, Crying, Depression, Established Relationship, Fashion design au, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Sexual Harassment, Wow, a lack of smut really, and just general cloudy feelings, harry gets panic attacks, i guess that's what you could call it lmao, i promise there's uplifting bits and silly things, like top gun and kitten mugs, looking at these tags it sounds super gloomy, lots of that going around here, there is smut, there's a lot of that as well, violence as said in archive warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cool_pineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's beautiful and soft and lovely and this isn't the first time he's seen this boy broken and falling apart, but. He can see it in his eyes that Harry's in pain: physically, emotionally and mentally. This is the worst that Louis' ever seen him, really. </p><p>or, Harry's hurting and Louis just wants to help him get better so he can be okay again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	will you be there in my darkest hour

**Author's Note:**

> And so it begins. this isn't my first fic, but it's the first one I've taken like super seriously- and I spent too much time on this for me to still be considered sane, so we'll see where that goes. Anyways. Thanks to dina for putting up with my shit and for pushing me to finish this damn thing.

Scissors, Louis has decided, are awful cutting utensils that get in the way of the important things in life. This is determined when Harry won’t have sex with him before going to work. Instead, his boyfriend is stitching and trimming a dress he designed earlier in the week and has to have finished by the time he has to leave.

“Couldn’t you have done this all _last night_?” Louis whines. Harry gives him this look of incredulousness, almost rolling his eyes.

“I _would_ have, if you hadn’t been wanting so badly to fuck me.” Oh yeah. There was that. Harry returns to his project, and Louis gets just a little bit jealous when he does. He admits that it gets him turned on. He’s completely sex driven by this, and gets up from under the sheets of the bed and whilst completely naked stands directly behind Harry and hugs him from behind, cock hard against his boyfriend’s arse. His mouth is next to Harry’s ear as he whispers, “If you come back to bed now I’ll make it up to you.” Harry doesn’t even look at him. He’s just cutting through the red fabric, ignoring Louis. He can see the edge of Harry’s mouth turned up in a smirk, though. Fuck, does Louis want him on that bed right now.

He’s tugging at the top of Harry’s pajama bottoms, trying to subtly pull them down his waist.

“You’re going to make me lose my concentration, Lou.” Louis presses his lips against his boyfriend’s neck, sucking lovebites into his skin. His stubble brushing against Harry’s soft skin, making the area an irritated red.

“Isn’t that the point?” He mumbles through kisses, and Harry sighs, turning towards Louis to look at him.

“I have to _work_. You are seriously going to make me late.” But he can see that little glimmer in Harry’s eyes, telling Louis that he’s dangerously close to getting what he wants. Unfortunately for him, Harry’s a fighter. Harry sets down the scissors on the table before him and leans back into Louis for a moment, closing his eyes. His head tilts just slightly, enough to let Louis know what he’s offering. Louis smirks, kissing into his neck, until Harry pulls away to hook a finger underneath his chin and tilt his head up and kiss him on the mouth. When he breaks away a second time, Louis’ too dazed to notice at first. Harry's pulling on his jeans over his stupid boxers over by the bed and pulling his belt through the little loops as quickly as he can, and Louis knows that he’s lost him for the time being. Not that he isn’t still going to _try_ to get Harry to stay.

“Goddammit Harry just stay and have sex with me.”

“I can’t, I have to go.”

“We can make it quick, you’ll be at work in no time,” it’s like a last attempt, though ultimately failing.

Harry’s buttoning up the shirt he’s put on, shaking his head.“I have a meeting this morning. I told you this last night and you didn’t seem to mind then-” Louis huffs loudly then puffs out his cheeks in annoyance. “I’ll make it up to you tonight if you want.”

“You better,” he mutters. He smirks again when he realizes Harry’s forgotten something, and drags himself over to meet Harry at the doorway of the bedroom.

“You forgot to tie that,” he nods to the striped tie Harry has around his neck. Louis flips up the collar of Harry’s dress shirt, and quickly pulls the one end of the tie through the other, tightens it and pulls the collar over.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, looking down at Louis’ lips. Louis hadn’t yet let go of Harry’s tie, and is tugging at it, pulling Harry closer. Louis presses his lips against Harry’s, hard. He’s biting on Harry’s lower lip, tugging at it with his teeth.

“‘M gonna be late,” Harry is mumbling.

“Can’t it wait, Haz?” Harry pulls away, pressing his forehead against his partner’s.

“I’ll lose my job if I do, and you know it.” Harry picks up his watch off his dresser and latches it around his wrist.

“So what? It’s not as if you _like_ that job anyways. You’re always going on about how awful your boss is and-”

“It’s experience, Lou. I couldn’t have a better job or this career at my age.”

“Bullshit, you’re lying through your teeth.” Louis pushes him towards the door and says, “Alright, go on. Get out of here. I don’t want you to be late.”

 

So maybe Louis’ right about Harry’s job. Harry's a clothes designer (well, okay, a paid intern), at a high class-owned business in London, and as much as he loves designing, the job isn’t right for him. It’s not the job itself, it’s more the environment around him that puts a weight on his shoulders. His boss is insufferable, doesn’t really pay Harry’s projects any attention (okay maybe Harry’s a bit needy in the department of attention). In truth, he’d be more successful somewhere else, but currently Harry cannot afford to lose his job which is all that’s paying his rent at the moment.

His coworkers are rather nice, though sometimes a bit snobby for uptown Londoners, but they seem to like Harry as well.

He brings this bag with him into work everyday that holds his fabric and other junk, along with his briefcase that doesn't have much use other than to make Harry look "sophisticated" ( _that_ was Louis' idea, it made him want to get into Harry's pants by the way it made him look like a businessman or something).

You’d think his work would provide fabric for the employed to go crazy with, but lo, their employer is a cheapskate who doesn’t provide them shit. It just makes it harder for Harry to pay rent, as much as he loves designing and all. Sometimes he really gets to thinking whether it’s worth it or not.

On a slow day, Harry’ll usually end up scrolling through pictures of kittens on Google. They’re like fluffballs from hell. Like Louis.

Today is one of those slow days. Quiet, calm, and free of anxiety for Harry. Other than showing his boss his finished dress Harry doesn't have much to do. Not moping or anything, just bored. He sketches some before falling asleep at his desk for God knows how long, and when he wakes up he realizes that the room is empty except for him and the janitor. Fuck. He looks up at the clock on the wall above him, and rubbing his eyes, the hands of the clock reading 7:46. Amazing. It's long past time for him to go home.

Harry sighs deeply before checking his phone for any messages (from Louis, who's probably worried sick about him, eh). There's ten messages and three missed calls. All from his boyfriend.

What time do you get off tonight? xx Lou

Is your boss keeping you late? xx Lou

Where are you? xx Lou

Harry are you okay? xx Lou

Are you dead? xx Lou

Please tell me you aren't dead

HAROLD STYLES TELL ME YOU ARE ALIVE

If you die I'm not coming to your funeral xx Lou

I'm getting pizza and I'm going to eat it all by myself if you don't reply xx Lou

Harry?

The voicemails aren't much different. He can feel the worry radiating through the receiver even though they're _voicemails_. Poor bloke. As carefree as he looks, Louis Tomlinson tends to worry about Harry. A lot. And of course he has his reasons, he always does. Harry gets panic attacks and sometimes they’re really bad. He tries to not let them control him and everything but it can get hard. So Louis worries enough for the both of them. Not that Harry will get a panic attack, no, it's more that Louis doesn't know if he'll be there to help Harry. Because, as much as he _knows_ that Harry’s dealt with it all by himself many a time before Louis, sometimes it helps Louis too. To comfort and in some way, he’s comforted as well.

He doesn't know why, but it works for them. It doesn't make Harry any more likely to get a panic attack because of Louis' concern, though sometimes when he's alone he truly wishes Louis were there with him to help calm him down.

Harry calls up Louis after packing his stuff up for the night, cell between his ear and shoulder, listening to the ringing as he pulls his bag strap over his shoulder.

"Lou, hey, I fell asleep at work, nobody woke me up."

"That's a first. You coming home now?"

Harry chuckles, "Yeah I'm just leaving. I'll be home in a bit, you'll wait up for me, right?"

"You _owe_ me, Harry Styles, I'm definitely cashing out tonight." Harry laughs again. "I'll see you soon, love."

*

Louis’ actually fallen asleep on the couch with a thin blanket covering him when he hears the jangling of keys and the opening of the front door. Louis sits up on the couch, watching Harry come inside. Harry doesn’t notice Louis at first, running fingers through his chocolate curls and he has tired, tired eyes. He can see it in the way he stands, shoulder a bit slumped forward as he kicks his trainors off. Louis moves to get up, throwing the blanket aside, and Harry glances up just as he drops his keys into the bowl on the table near the door.

“You look like you could use a bath,” Louis says as he approaches the tall boy. Harry gives him a tired smile, nodding his head in answer.

“It’s weird because I didn’t do much today. We probably had too much sex last night.” He laughs, and Louis gives him and over dramatic look of both surprise and disgust.

“Too much _sex_? Harry there’s no such thing!” He throws his hands in the air. That just makes Harry laugh harder. “Whatever. Lemme draw you a bath and we can _talk later_.”

“You sure you don’t want to join me?” as much as Louis craves Harry, his tub is a tight fit for the both of them. Sitting down at least.

They’re in the bathroom and Louis turns the knobs, water pouring out of the faucet as Harry grabs a towel from the cupboard in the hallway, and the tub begins to fill with hot water.

Harry eases into the water once he’s stripped down to nothing, and Louis leaves to go into the kitchen to heat up leftover soup for himself as he waits.

Harry’s in the bath for the longest time that Louis ends up on the bed, ready to take a nap when he finally returns. All he has on is a towel wrapped around his waist, wet curls sticking around his face as he searches the drawers for pajamas.

“Still wanna cash out?” Harry asks, turning his head to Louis.

“You bet.”

“Sure you aren’t too tired?”

“Harry I swear to God if you keep talking nonsense I’ll-” Somehow he doesn’t notice when Harry moves towards him until his hands on his chest and lips on his mouth, pressing Louis into the bed. Harry’s completely forgotten about getting dressed and has abandoned his towel. It's only a matter of time before Louis' clothes are off and his hands are tangled with Harry's wet curls as Harry selfishly kisses Louis' stomach and hip. Sucking marks into his skin- where Louis will make sure to show off to the lads later.

Yet Harry is so gentle with Louis, fingers fluttering across Louis' body as if he's afraid he'll break. He swirls his fingertips along Louis' stomach making him shiver and take short breaths, and the _look_ on Harry's face is pure _evil_. It's so intentional and he knows it. Like he wants Louis to get hard at the lightest of touches. Well, it's working.

Harry doesn't relent. He keeps going, kissing every place on Louis' body until he's moaning, begging. Grasping at Harry's back, nails digging into his skin before finally Harry gives in to it, smirking still.

"You aren't being very nice about it, are you?" Harry murmurs as he kisses Louis on the jaw one last time before moving to grab lube and a condom from the drawer in the nightstand. That tingling feeling is still there, as if Harry's hands are still roaming his body.

"You caused this you know." Louis mutters in reply. Harry laughs, handing Louis the condom to put on him. He opens it and sort of sits up slash leans on his side and Harry moves back so that he's sitting on Louis' thighs. He struggles for a moment, causing Harry to snicker and help him, and Louis just falls back onto the bed and closes his eyes in annoyance. He waits for Harry to make some kind of sarcastic remark.

“What, is this your first time or something?” There it is. Louis opens one eye to peak at the boy sitting on top of him, and Louis huffs, sitting still for a while, like he’s just going to take Harry’s stupid remark. _As if_. He shoves Harry off of him and onto the mattress beside him and Louis turns so he’s just inches away from Harry’s lips which are so, so inviting and pink and fuck. He waits. Harry lies there, his eyes batting and green, breathing hard with his arms lying above his head. Louis finds himself sort of hovering over him, on his hands and knees.

“You don’t wish this was my first time, yeah?” Harry shakes his head, curls falling in his face. Louis pushes them away gently, his fingers pressing against the side of Harry’s face, thumbing over his cheek. Harry’s got nothing to hold himself up by with his arms out of the way, which makes it easy for Louis to move in.

Louis presses his lips against Harry’s hard, and they both melt into one another, warm body touching warm body. Hot saliva and slobbery kisses and lack of oxygen, they struggle to regain their breath as Harry murmurs, “You’re going to get so fucked.”

“I’ll ride you to the moon and back,” Louis breathes.

“Sounds a bit poetic, doesn’t it?”

“As much as late night sex can get, I guess.” Louis kisses Harry’s neck once, twice, before moving on, and eventually they've adjusted their bodies so Louis can do whatever the fuck Harry'll let him, and then after it's over, they're lying beside each other gasping for air and filling their lungs until their breathing becomes steady again.

They fall asleep with Harry curled up in Louis' arms like always, messy hair and swollen lips and it's nice.

*

The rest of the week, not so much.

Okay so maybe Harry had a stupid little outburst (which is usually Louis' thing, maybe Harry's becoming like those dogs that look like their owners, in some way) and _maybe_ it’s coming back to bite him in the arse.

It was a couple of days ago when it happened, and Harry was already pretty stressed and tired and he’d asked his boss to look over his designs but just ignored Harry. As if he had something better to do. _Which_ he did not, Harry knows, he was just picking underneath his nails and rubbing them on his pant leg. So he got frustrated, asked again, and was ignored again. It’s not like Harry to do something like this- yell at someone that is. Get red-faced and shout and generally be angry. He doesn’t show himself to people like that

He has had the last couple of days off, so today is something Harry’s anxious about. He doesn’t want to be confronted about it, but he’s sure he will be.

He’s anxious when he gets up out of bed, when Lou kisses him on the cheek and as he wishes Harry a good day, he’s anxious on the walk uptown to work, when he’s on the elevator. So very nervous.

The workplace has shifted from it’s usual loudness to an awkward silence when Harry arrives this morning. He know exactly what’s going on. Only twice has he ever encountered this silence, once being his first day of work nearly five months ago. Someone is getting fired. And by the stares he is receiving, Harry knows who it’s going to be. He can feel his cheeks burning, and he takes his bags to his desk and sits down there, waiting. Attempting to ignore the stares that are burning holes into his backside.

There are so many thoughts going through his head in this moment, such as _you’re fired, you’re fired, you’re fired_ , and everything he’s said that day, how he’d felt, what he’d regretted. He just wants there to be a release. One like, _I no longer care about this job, you can take it and shove it up your arse_. But it doesn’t come. He needs the money. He wants the experience. Anyone would be lucky to be working in the same building as the famous Leonard Hilton. This is what Harry is trying to convince himself, at least.

Maybe he’s overreacted. Maybe everything is fine. It’s completely fine. He’s okay. Right?

There’s a sudden change in the atmosphere, Harry can feel it. He notices it immediately. His coworkers have stopped watching him and ceased their quiet murmuring amongst themselves, and have gone back to pretending to work. He feels the presence of his boss in the doorway somewhere behind him. Harry turns slowly around in his chair to meet his gaze, willing his cheeks to stop showing his nervousness. This man before him, so powerful in the world of fashion, has some kind of hold over Harry. Hilton has a way of keeping things under his control. And Harry absolutely hates it. Something inside him twists up, making him feel like everything he’s ever thought is being shoved down his throat. It’s this feeling that makes him afraid that in just a minute or two he’ll be pleading for his job.

“Come with me” are the only words spoken, and Harry does as told, following behind until they reach Hilton’s office, to which he holds the door open for his intern. Harry goes to sit in the black leather chair across from Hilton's desk.

“I’m sure you know why I’ve called you here this morning,” he pauses, “what you said before was out of line.” There’s something in Hilton’s voice that doesn’t suggest anger, but an eerie calmness. It makes Harry uncomfortable. “Many of my employees would think you to be deserving of a punishment.” Harry’s voice is stuck in his throat, and he makes a small, choked noise, but says not a word.

“I think otherwise.” Those were _not_ the words he’d been expecting. How about “pack your bags and get out of my office,” or “I’ll be sending your last check in the mail”, Harry would’ve preferred them to be completely honest.

“Do you want this job, Mr. Styles?”

There it is. That almost magnetic push like somehow he’s forcing Harry to do what he wants. Which, he’s probably imagining all of it, but.

“Yessir.”

“That’s good to know. I would be displeased if you didn’t.” _Displeased_. Displeased? Harry’s seen plenty employees come running out of this office in tears when they’ve been fired. Displeased isn’t a word he’d describe it as.

“Am I dismissed, sir?” Harry just wants to go home. Take a nap. Forget about the whole thing.

“I actually have something for you, to keep in mind a sort of agreement, if you will.” Hilton opens one of the drawers in his desk and takes out this smooth black box, smaller than Harry’s palm. Then again, that’s not saying much as Harry has big hands.

Harry’s brows furrow as he’s handed the box. “An agreement?” He carefully opens it, lifting the lid off and sets it down on his lap. A watch. Silver around the rim as well as the band, and dark blue roman numerals. Brand new. And _extremely_  expensive.

“One that ensures that your designs are used in the runway for the London Fashion Week.” London Fashion Week? Interns aren’t even supposed to get their designs off paper, much less the most famous fashion show in all of Britain. “Of course, you’ll have to do something for me in return.” There’s this anxious feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach, it makes him feel as this something in return is related to one of his coworkers, Wendy, crying at her desk earlier this morning.

He doesn’t want to know what it is, but still Harry asks anyway. “Like what, exactly?”

There’s no change of expression on his boss’s face when he answers. “The time will pass and my reasons will soon be revealed, but that is not for now.”

Harry had just dug himself into a hole he wouldn’t be able to get out of.

*

He’s sort of forgotten about the watch. Harry’s placed it on the dresser in his room back in the flat, and every time he eyes it he squints a bit, still confused about their “agreement” Hilton has proposed. Something in his mind is telling him that it has something to do with when he’d accidentally come out to his coworkers a few months ago.

Days pass. Harry soon realized exactly what Hilton wants from him, and he has plenty of ideas of how to get Harry to give in to it. He’ll pass Harry in the corridor and wink at him, or Hilton will put his arm on Harry’s shoulder when he’s at his desk with his sketchbook and designs, and his boss’s hand slowly creeps down to Harry’s waist. He obviously wants some sort of reaction from Harry, but he doesn’t give him that. Hot, disgusting whispers into his ear, and Harry can’t- no, _doesn’t_  do anything about it.

His coworkers seem to either not notice these confrontations or they are just ignoring them entirely. _They’re probably sleeping together. What a fucking pet_.

It gets to the point, at a week later, Harry has started to notice that his coworkers are _avoiding_  him. Not just when he’s around Hilton, but when someone has a project that they’re stuck on, they’ll ask each other for help. Last week, on a regular day, Harry would probably be asked once or twice- but no one has said a word to him. Instead he’s received stares every time he’s gone to and from Hilton’s office, and Harry would look down and try to avoid them. They know exactly what is going on, and they are alienating Harry.

*

He wants to quit his job so fucking badly.

Hilton had touched Harry’s arse. This isn’t part of the job. Definitely not on accident, as it hadn’t happened once, but three times during his day at work. It was disgusting. Harry’d felt violated and gross and tired all at the same time during the gropings, enough to make him sick.

Going home may be worse for Harry, because he can’t bring himself to tell Louis about the situation. God, did he want to tell Louis. There is something in the back of his head that keeps him from doing so- a lurking thought. That if Hilton were to find out he’d do something worse than just fire him. He can see the fire in Hilton’s eyes, maybe that’s why Harry’s so convinced.

“Is something wrong, Hazza?” Louis asks when Harry is looking especially stressed out.

“No, love,” he replies easily, everything’s fine. How long would he have to lie to his best friend in the world?

*

It isn’t all that long before Louis finally confronts Harry about it. He can tell something is up.

“We haven’t done it in a while Haz.”

“I know,” is Harry’s quiet voice.

“We haven’t done _anything_. What’s going on? You’re usually not like this.” Louis pauses, taking in a breath. “I mean, if you aren’t into all this, that’s fine, we can take it more slowly, yeah? I don’t mind it that much.” He goes on and on-

That day, Hilton had done something different to Harry, not his usual groping of the arse. It makes him start to breathe unevenly just thinking about it.

A call to Hilton’s office. “Sit down” and don’t speak out of turn. He’s learned that through narrowed eyes and bruised skin on the bum. Harry hadn’t known what Hilton had wanted from him, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. There was something off about him. This something that Harry’d never seen before in his boss (and honestly, Harry had seen too many sides to this man to count, and it scared him). He’d stayed where he was, turned his back to the door even when a hand went to his shoulder and forcefully pulled him back.

“I said _sitdown_ , dammit.” Somehow he’d fallen into the leather chair where Harry narrowed his eyes at the man before him. Hilton leaned forward on his arms against the desk, and was glaring back at Harry, unblinking. For a moment, Harry’d thought he’d spaced out when Hilton finally spoke again.

“You know what I want.” _and I’ll make sure to get it_.

“I-I have a boyfriend.” What a stupid thing for Harry to say in such a situation.

“You think that matters?” Hilton sneers, and laughed briefly, angrily- when he stopped, slowly a smirk appeared. “And I bet you haven’t told your ‘boyfriend’ about us. _You’re just a disgusting homosexual. You’re a coward_.” Harry’s insides were hot and coiling. Burning with hatred for this man.

“Let’s be honest here, nobody really wants you.” he hissed.

Hilton was right in Harry’s face, and he put his hand on Harry’s chest, stroking the fabric. So quick to be gentle, with his hands light on Harry’s stomach. “But I can be something to keep your mind off of all this.” Harry was sinking back into the chair, not wanting to be cornered like this.

“You want me,” Hilton moved his other hand to the back of Harry’s neck.

Harry’s voice was no more than a whisper. “No.” His boss’s reaction was blindingly quick. His fingers dug into the skin of Harry’s neck, and then they were in his hair, pulling hard.

“What did you say?” for only a split second did Harry look into his eyes. When he did, Harry could see the crazy fury within them. How horrible a person could be.

“I don’t want you.”

Harry’s chair was kicked back from beneath him, hitting the hardwood floor with a hard crash. He was pulled forward by the hair and onto his knees.

“You know I can do anything to you if I wanted.”

“No.” _Get the fuck away from me_. “I quit.” _I’m not fucking afraid of you_.

The hands of this monster let him go. He was stunned by Harry’s reply, into silence. Did he realize what he’d been doing to Harry? Did he realize that he no longer had authority over him?

Somehow, Harry scrambled to his feet and left Hilton’s office. The room before him went from a medium roar to absolute silence when he entered. Harry no longer cared that everyone was watching him. He no longer cared what they thought of him.

Harry went to his desk and took his briefcase and opened it. Quickly, he stuffed what he could fit inside of it and threw the rest- what didn’t matter- into the trashcan beside his desk. There was one thing, a photo of Louis and himself, that Louis’d brought to Harry one day when he was on a lunch break. He’d have to hide this back at his flat. All of it. He didn’t want to have Louis ask questions he couldn’t answer. Because Harry’s a shit liar. And Louis would be able to see right through him.

Harry’s heart was heavy as he left through the double doors and his vision blurred. He was shaking. _You can make it out of here_.

He knew what he’d given up. One of the biggest fashion shows in the world that could exhibit Harry’s work. People would know him. They’d hear the name and say, “Oh _that_  boy? Only twenty and still at university and he’s a fashion mastermind!” He knew what he was giving up. And it hurt Harry to think that he could’ve had it had he only just sucked up to his boss and stop feeling anything. No- he was right to do this.

Harry didn’t want to go on the lift down, in fear of having someone see him in such a state. Instead, Harry took the stairwell, seven floors above ground level. Harry started down the stairs hurriedly, willing himself to keep going. He knew that if he stopped, there was a possibility of him trying to return and apologize. If it hadn’t been for Hilton, Harry would have never had such a good start in his career. _No, none of this. He doesn’t deserve any apologies. He’s not the one that’s hurting_. Harry was on the landing of the third floor when he finally collapsed against the railing, scared that he might have a panic attack,  his feet feeling like they weighed a ton. Harry’s head was dizzy, his eyes blurred with tears that stung his face, and he could feel it in his voice as well as he cried, hands gripping the rail. _It’s okay, you don’t work for that bastard any longer. You’re fine, Harry_. But for some reason, Harry didn’t believe it.

Remembering now just brings that familiar sick feeling into Harry’s body. _Just forget that it ever happened_.

“Harry, love, you’re spacing out on me.”

“I’m fine.” He says to Louis. Everything’s fine. Louis knows that this isn’t entirely true,

but he’s never been one to push Harry for answers.

“We can get pizza tonight if you’d like. It can be just us and a couple bottles of beer and you could pick out a movie…” It would be his ideal date if Harry were in the mood, but Harry has his thoughts too focused on other things. Such as how he’s going to find a job in the span of time before rent comes, and his landlord doesn’t allow late fees.

“Yeah, sure.”

Harry lays in bed for hours, unmoving and not tired, thoughts swirling around in this soup of mind, where he has a spoon that’s stirring faster and faster than Harry can keep track of. It’s endless. Sure, he no longer has ties with Hilton, but there is no doubt in Harry’s mind that if he wanted to, Hilton could easily find Harry again (okay, Harry tends to be paranoid about things, he’s probably just overreacting).

He isn’t sure what is going to happen. Whether he is going to get over this. Louis comes to check on him once or twice, neither of which does he ask Harry about the pizza or movie, but instead asks Harry if he’s feeling alright.

“Just a bit tired s’all.” But he doesn’t try to sleep. Harry stares at the ceiling for a long time. A little while later Louis peaks his head through the door.

“Haarrry, love, the boys and I were wondering if you would be up for hanging out with us at Liam’s.”

The sun is close to setting, oranges and pinks flooding through his bedroom windows. The light is warm on Harry’s skin, and he’s settled on his stomach, taking in the light like a cat searching for warmth. He’s comfortable by now, doesn’t really want to get up, but hanging out with his friends is something they haven’t done in a while. And it could really get his mind off of things.

“Mmm, would sound nice if I were to ever get up.” Harry mumbles, arms under his head muffling his voice. Louis chuckles, nearing him, and climbs up onto the bed next to Harry and plops down beside him like a goddamn pancake. Though, he’s quite a sexy pancake.

“I completely understand, this is very very nice and the bed is so _warm_  ohmygod.” Harry turns his head towards Louis, eyes fluttering and he smiles. “You look so beautiful,” Louis murmurs, bringing his hand up to Harry’s cheek. Harry pushes his head into the touch, closing his eyes. Louis would never hurt him, he knows this. This is the one thing out of all things in the universe that Harry is absolutely sure of. “The way the light lands on your hair, your curls falling around your face…” Louis trails off softly. Harry buries his face into Louis’ neck and breathes in deeply, taking in Louis’ smell.

“You aren’t too bad yourself,” Harry whispers. Louis laughs, fingers running through Harry’s dark curls where bigger, calloused hands had been only hours before, both of them breathing softly.

“I think we should just take a nap instead,” Harry says.

“Once the sun goes down you’ll have changed your mind.” Louis replies. Harry groans.

And then, “Fine, let’s go.” Harry gets up and off of the bed, and it’s Louis’ turn to groan. Harry smirks in turn, knowing that Louis would love to lie there just as much as he.

“I didn’t mean we had to leave _now_ , babe.” Louis complains. He is going to have to work for another cuddling session (or whatever other means of affection).

“You know they’re probably already waiting for us, Lou, we should leave now so Niall has to bring the beer.” Because somehow Liam never keeps his fridge stocked, or Zayn always drinks them, and they have this sort of deal that whoever is the last to arrive gets the call to make a stop at the supermarket before heading over.

“Just give me like, one second.” Louis huffs out and stuffs his face into the mattress. More than one second passes, and Harry begins to notice Louis’ back isn’t falling and rising from breathing. Arsehole’s trying to trick him. But then twenty seconds, thirty. Harry nears the bedside and pokes Louis on the back.

“Uh, Lou?” No reply. Harry puts two hands to Louis’ ribs and pushed gently. Nothing. “Louis I swear to God-” Then he gets an idea. He creeps up onto the bed beside Louis and finds a spot of weakness. The armpits. He begins tickling Louis, trying to get a reaction from him, which is easy enough, but Louis starts laughing and squirming and rolls over onto his back. Harry jumps on top of Louis, straddling him between his thighs and continues tickling him saying, “Tell me you’re a jackass and that you deserve this.” Louis keeps laughing and shaking his head and ,”No, no no no.”

“Say it and I’ll stop.”

“Okay, I’m-” Louis gasps for air, “a jackass and I totally deserve this.” Harry grins and stops, but stays sitting on top of him. Louis’ eyes are bright blue and looking up at Harry in defeat, blinking and sparkling.

“Definitely deserved it,” Harry says a bit breathless himself. Louis watches him so admiringly and genuinely. They both try to even their breathing.

“How am I going to make up for it, then?” Louis asks quietly.

“Mmm, you could try by kissing me, maybe. I might just have to accept it as payment.” Harry’s hands are under Louis’ head, his fingertips at the nape of his hair. He leans down and presses his lips to the blue-eyed boy’s, so soft and warm. But it’s not long enough, even though it’s Harry who pulls away and says, “We should get going. I don’t want to be the one buying cheap, disappointing beer.”

“If you want, you can say I picked it out.” Louis replies, brushing his fingertips along Harry’s jawline. Harry scowls down at him.

“C’mon, Lou.”

“We could wait a while, I’m sure Li won’t mind.”

“Louis, _you’re_  the one who came here and crashed my almost-nap.” he crosses his arms over his chest.

“What, you didn’t enjoy it?”

“Not one bit.” Harry sticks out his lower lip for good measure.

“Liar.” Louis mutters under his breath. Harry snickers. Louis’ cell buzzes and he takes it from his back pocket and up to his ear.

“Fucking hell. Our Irish bloke’s there already? Yeah, yeah. Okay, mate, see ya in a bit.” He hangs up and gives Harry a look.

“Guess we’re buying cheap, disappointing beer, then.”

*

“Isn’t it Harry’s turn to pick?”

"We are _not_  watching a chick flick tonight." Zayn turns to Harry and says, "Haz, I love you mate, but you always choose chick flicks."

"What, are you afraid they're going to hurt your masculinity?" Louis says with a strong pour of sarcasm into the blend. Niall is busting up laughing, tears filling his eyes even as he holds his stomach, close to falling off the couch just by himself when Zayn helps by giving him a good shove, and glares over at Louis.

"Whatever. You're always the one complaining when he grabs Pride and Prejudice!"

" _That's_  because the remake is utter bullshit, everyone knows the 1995 version is better!" They bicker back and forth like an old married couple Zayn and Louis do, and, knowing them this could go on for a while. Someone coughs, and everyone turns to look at Harry, who's holding up a DVD. Top Gun. The boys all consider this, nodding their heads in unison and forethought.

Harry gives them a stupid grin, and kneels down next to the DVD player, pushing the button to open it. "There's not too much cheesy romance to make you gag, and plenty of action to save your masculinity," he explains, emphasizing 'plenty' and looking right at Zayn, who rolls his eyes in reply.

*

Everybody's crying by the time Tom Cruise is in the water surrounded by the bright green repellant. It was inevitable, really. As every single boy in the room isn't heartless and loves a good Tom Cruise film.

"Christ, he's too good looking. It's really too bad he isn't gay."

"Louis, he's like fifty." Zayn mutters.

"That's never stopped anyone before, has it?" and the other boys are rolling their eyes. They banter on, and Liam presses pause on the remote as they do, because if they continue watching the movie in the midst of arguing nobody will be able to hear anything but the two boys' colorful wording, and it'll put everyone in an annoyed mood, especially when the two stop and complain that they missed enough scenes even though all of them have seen the movie enough times to have memorized it.

"So, Harry," Liam turns his attention to the curly haired boy, "how's work going lately? Entered any of your designs in fashion shows?"

There's this nervous, choked sound that comes from Harry's throat from the unexpected question. He doesn't think that anyone notices, for they don't ask about it

"Uh, well, interns don't get their designs in any lines or shows, it's mostly about like, expanding your skill or whatever, unless the outfits are extremely well put together and someone is desperate.”

"Sounds harsh," Niall says.

"Ah, that's too bad, I'm sure if they gave our Harry a chance they'd be surprised." _Surprise! I no longer have a job because my boss sexually harassed me and I couldn't deal with it appropriately_! There's too many thoughts going around in his head- that Harry's the one who's at fault and that he should've left sooner (God, he keeps questioning everything he does and it's bringing an avalanche down around him) that he should've told somebody, should've done this should've done that. It's too overwhelming for Harry and he's suddenly on the verge of having an anxiety attack for the second time today.

Harry can't say anything in reply. He just feels his face burning with heat and the lump in his throat and the oxygen leaving his lungs and Harry gets up and excuses himself to go to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. He can feel himself breathing harder and harder, his vision becoming dark at the edges, gripping the counter with hire knuckles. _Breathe, Harry_. He doesn't understand why he's so anxious about this, he didn't say anything about Hilton or losing his job. He's _fine_. Harry turns on the faucet, cupping his hands under the cold running water and splashes it onto his face, gasping for air as he does. It doesn't take long for Louis to come knocking at the door when Harry's in there longer than he should, trying to regain control of his breathing, and his boyfriend asking whether Harry's okay.

"I'm- fine, just go back over there with the boys, I'll be out in just a second." Harry moves to sit on the countertop, bringing his knees to his chest and expecting Louis to leave. He doesn't.

"Harry," they both know he's lying. And he knows Louis' trying his best to get through to him now and help, but Harry's just building a higher wall between them, as unstable as it is.

Still, Harry unlocks the door and rests his head between his knees, trying to breathe.

"Oh Harry," Louis whispers softly, "it's going to be okay, Haz, you can get through this." His hand begins running along Harry's back in comfort. "You'll be alright, love." Louis continues to whisper comforting words to Harry, trying his best to help Harry from his panic attack he's having.

"C'mon now, I need you to concentrate on my voice, okay?" Then, he says quieter, "try evening your breathing to my voice."

"Tomorrow I'll be quicker, I'll stare into the strobe light flicker and afloat I'll stay," Louis climbs onto the counter and sits next beside Harry, "but I'm quite alright hiding today," he lets Harry lean into him as he sits there. "Tomorrow I'll be faster, I'll catch what I've been chasing after and have time to play, but I'm quite alright _hiding today_."

There's a long time of humming the next two verses, running his fingers gently through Harry's curled and just wanting to give Harry the world because God He Deserves That At The Very Least. Louis looks at Harry then, eyes so full of love for him, and he gives Harry a small smile. "I'll probably swim though a few lagoons, I'll have a spring in my step and I'll get there soon to sing you a happy tune," he breathes in, "tomorrow. And you better bring a change of clothes, so we can sail our laughing pianos, along a beam of light, but I'm quite alright," Louis kisses Harry on the top of his chocolate curls, "hiding tonight." He drags out the last word, sort of trailing off, watching Harry as he leans into Louis' side, burying his face into Louis' tee shirt.

They sit there a while, silently, with eyes closed.

"Do you want me to take you home, Harry?" He shakes his head and raises it up, meeting Louis' thoughtful gaze with big watery green eyes.

"Should finish watching the movie with the lads." Louis nods and wraps his arms around Harry, and kisses him on the cheek.

"Okay, just tell me if you're not feeling up to it, alright? I don't want you to have to drain yourself out more than you already have." Harry nods in answer, and Louis takes his big soft hand in his and Harry shifts his body, his legs dangling off the counter and hops down, and Louis dows as well.

He can feel three pairs of eyes on him as they come back into the room (it’s not “I know what you’ve done” kind of intense staring, just out of curiosity), but Louis gives them a look that says, “he doesn’t want to talk about it” and the two boys go to sit down on the couch. Harry can feel the further confusion because he usually sits at Louis’ feet when at Liam’s flat. This time they’re next to each other on the couch with Harry between Louis and Zayn, and Liam is on Zayn’s other side and Niall’s sitting in the purple armchair. Louis still holds Harry’s soft hand in his, thumbing over his skin. Harry lets himself lean into Louis, his head resting against his boyfriend’s neck and he’s comforted for the time being.

By the time the movie is over, Niall’s passed out in the armchair and Liam’s kissing Zayn goodnight on the cheek and saying his farewells to Louis and Harry for the night.

“We’ll drop Harry off at his flat, you sure you don’t want us to take Ni off your hands too?” Zayn asks him. Liam shakes his head.

“He’ll be fine I’m sure. Plus I bet he won’t be able to get into his own place, probably lost his keys somewhere in the cushions.” He laughs a little, “anyways, I’m going to bed. I’ll see you kids later, yeah?”

“Love you.” Zayn’s quick to give him a small peck on the lips, then he’s out the door, following Harry and Louis who’ve already started down the single flight of stairs.

The drive to Harry’s place is fairly quiet, other than The 1975 playing on Zayn’s radio in the car. Harry’s close to falling asleep in the back seat whilst Louis’ up front talking to Zayn quietly about something, he can’t really hear what they’re saying. Murmuring and questioning and Zayn giving Louis looks while they’re stopped at red lights. Harry looks out the window to the city lights around them, glowing and flickering in many colors. His eyes are fluttering shut when suddenly he’s shaken awake and see’s that they’re parked on the side of the street, and Louis’ hand is on Harry’s shoulder.

“We’re here.” Harry smiles sleepily at him and starts unbuckling his seatbelt. Louis waits for him to get out and then together they walk to the lobby door and listen to the hum of the car engine behind them.

“Do you want me to stay over tonight?” Louis asks him when they’ve gone inside.

“No, I’m sure your cat should see your face after all the time you’ve spent with me in the past week.” They climb the steps to the fourth floor, Harry’s floor, and down the long corridor to Harry’s apartment at the other end.

“You sure?”

Harry smiles at him and kisses Louis once on the cheek.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. I’ll make some tea and go off to bed.” Louis nods and leans in for another kiss on the lips. Warm and sweet.

“M’kay, then I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harry reaches for his keys in his back pocket and unlocks his door. One last kiss on the lips, then Harry leaves Louis in the corridor and stands against the door, listening as Louis’ footsteps become quieter as he leaves, and soon down the stairs.

Harry doesn’t make it to the kitchen, nor to his bedroom, but ends up falling asleep on the couch.

*

Time is running out for Harry. To pay rent with his nonexistent paycheck- he desperately needs to find a job. He's gone out enough to look around town for openings, to which he's been ultimately unsuccessful at finding anything.

Today he's at his flat whilst Louis' at work, which means he has the time (haha) to just be with himself and think. Not that he would mind the company, but with Louis, it would be only a matter of time before whatever Harry was doing was abandoned and they'd be doing something else without clothes on in the bedroom.

Harry's managed to scrounge up money from his savings account, about £600, but he's still about 300 short. He's had the idea to possibly sell his watch to a pawn shop or something, if only Harry could _find_ it.

The watch is missing. The last time Harry saw it was inside one of his dresser drawers so Louis wouldn't see it just sitting there, but it's gone. Which means one of two things: either Harry moved it and he's forgotten where, or Louis found the watch and knows how Harry got it. Or possibility #3: aliens from outer space love shiny things and stole it whilst Harry was sleeping (it isn't really rational but hey, you never know, right?) he's just a tad bit paranoid about this.

He's searched just about everywhere in his flat, and then, Harry looks underneath his bed (everyone loses things under there, sometimes you've got to check twice), but no watch. Instead Harry finds his briefcase and a shiny frame there, and Harry picks up the photo and sees the two happy boys in it, both grinning like mad. It was taken when Louis and him had gone to the beach that first summer, and just beforehand Louis'd kissed Harry for the first time. You could see it in Harry's blushing cheeks and glowing eyes that he'd loved it, loved Louis. Every bad feeling that Harry ever had just melts whenever he's around Louis. All of it fades to leave so much love and happiness.

He feels a bit at peace as he gives up his search for the magically disappearing watch. Instead, he's gone to watch Dirty Dancing in the living room. He's fucking memorized the movie, and when Louis watches it with him he makes sure to tease Harry about it.

*

Harry doesn't wake up late at night when keys jingle at his front door, when his boyfriend comes and finds him asleep on the couch after the movie, or when he carries Harry to bed.  
  
He wakes up sometime in the early morning, though, and sees the faint silhouette of Louis' body beside his on Harry's bed. And he smiles, snuggles closer to his boyfriend, and falls back to sleep.

*

Harry is groggy when he wakes up later that morning. His curls are all tangled and in his face, and Harry knows he's alone by the blankets covering him. But as he moves to get up, he hears the crinkling of paper. Harry rubs his eyes before focusing them on the yellow note that had once been attached to one of the blankets with tape, and when he grabs the note to read it he laughs.

 _Gone out for groceries,_ it says, meaning Louis' actually gone to buy cigarettes, possibly a coffee or two, because that boy doesn't know the definition of the word "groceries" to save his life. Unfortunately he won't be back in time to hang out with Harry before work, so he'll probably come over afterwards.

Harry slinks into the kitchen, where he opens the fridge almost immediately.  “Look’s like breakfast is out of the question,” he mutters. There is a half empty jar of pickles, butter, and a couple bottles of beer. Being at his boyfriend’s flat by himself most hours of the day, Louis was prone to cleaning out the fridge. Boy, does that guy have an appetite.

Deciding to go out into the city to look some more for job openings, Harry changes into decent clothes and grabs his coat on his way out the door.

He doesn’t want to tell Louis about the situation of his job, for the reason that he doesn’t want to be pitied and given money to help pay his rent. And he doesn't want to fight his boyfriend about the whole thing. He doesn't want to fight. Harry isn't fond of that hot feeling that goes through his body every time they get in an argument (though not often)- it makes him sick to his stomach.

He spends hours upon hours looking for a goddamn job, only careful enough to not tell Louis about it. He prefers ones involving his career, but there aren’t any job openings there. The bigger companies have never heard of him (Harry never got a reference from Hilton after he quit), and the smaller businesses don’t have the money for another designer. Harry tries finding jobs at the malls around, but there is nothing in those either.

*

Harry’s eaten an extremely early dinner alone at the flat that he got on his way back from the upper city. He has the itch to draw just now, and soon finds his sketch book underneath the stacks of papers on the coffee table in the living room. Harry picks up the pencil that sits on the end table beside the lamp and begins drawing an outfit that has been brewing in his mind.

When Louis returns from work finally, Harry has already gone through ten sketches, each one thrown out because it hadn’t looked right to him.

“Hey Haz,” Louis greets him as he sits on the couch next to Harry, whose tongue is sticking out in concentration as he draws. Harry pays him no attention, which after a couple of moments earns his pencil disappearing from his hands. When he glances up at his boyfriend, Louis is sticking the pencil behind his ear.

“Oi, give that back, Lou!”

“Mmm, not until you say hello to me,” he murmurs, a smirk showing on his face. There is no way Harry was going to get that pencil back until he does as Louis wants, this being known from experience. Louis is clucking his tongue, and Harry is biting his lip, wondering if that pencil is really worth Louis’ satisfaction. It definitely is.

Harry's eyes flick from the boy's lips to his eyes. _I can play that game_ , he says through the voice in his own eyes. But Louis is a step ahead of him. He is grinning and takes the pencil from his ear, holding it above himself, out of Harry's reach, which wouldn’t be so far with Harry’s long body if he weren’t sitting two feet away from Lou.

"You have to come to me," Louis whispers. Harry crawls towards him, abandoning his notebook that has been sitting on his lap, which falls to the floor. Harry's eyes flick to the pencil, which is now no longer out of reach, but _God_ Louis' lips are so intoxicating. Louis leans even closer to Harry, his face only inches away from the curly-haired boy's.

"Forget the damn pencil, Haz," he murmurs. Harry kisses Louis' jawline, trying to get him to give in. He sees out of the corner of his eye that the hand the pencil is in is wavering above them. _Stop teasing me_ is the look in Louis' eyes. Harry smirks, moving his kisses up towards his ear. He hears the faint plop of the pencil dropping to the floor, and Louis' hands are in the back of Harry's head grasping at his hair. Louis is coaxing him towards his lips with those hands at his hair. Then there are hot kisses and saliva and tongues meeting, and Harry felt like he can't get enough of Louis like he had when they'd had their very first kiss. At times Harry will pull away to catch his breath and mumble something about still wanting to draw, but is pulled back into kissing Louis.

Their snogging session ends with them still on the couch somehow, arms falling off the side and a nap together. They've also somehow swapped positions, with Harry on the bottom and Louis laying on top of him, light and breathing softly.

And when he wakes up the next morning, Louis is saying something in his sleep to Harry, though he can't make out any words.

"Alright, Lou," he whispers, pulling himself out from under him. He's woken up with the urge to pee, and doesn’t want to wake the sleeping boy to go to the bathroom. Louis must wake up when Harry gets up, though he doesn’t said anything when he does. He is rubbing the sleep from his eyes when Harry returns from the bathroom.

“Hey,” he mumbles, “I should go feed the cat before he dies of starvation.” The cat. Gulliver. That lazy piece of shit that can probably survive the apocalypse just by sitting on his arse.

“That's the first thing you think of when you wake up? That you have to feed your damn cat?” Harry jokes, and Louis shrugs in reply, beginning to sit up on the cream-colored couch.

“I've forgotten to feed him for the past couple of days. He's probably gone through the neighbour's trash going through the bars into their balcony.” He snickers at the thought. “Poor fellas prolly thinkin' it was a raccoon or somethin’.”

“I'll see you later, then.”

Louis leaves, and Harry’s left alone once again.

*

It’s about nine in the evening one day when he gets a text from Louis that he's gotten off of work early and he is heading to Harry's flat. Harry has gone to about several different shops in the city, and two of the bigger designing companies. None of them in which have had hirings, which has put Harry in a gloomy mood. Harry feels like one of those cartoons with a personal storm cloud over his head, watching everyone about the streets looking happy and excited, while he is in his own little bubble being rained upon, jobless. You could probably compare the boy to Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh, who always just gets his life fucked up some way, some how.

He turns his direction from the coffee shop where he was going to get a something for himself to fill his stomach a little before dinner, but with Louis' text Harry figures he might as well head home, as Louis has most likely forgotten to eat after work.

He is maybe three blocks from the flat. The streets are eerily quiet for the time, even though Harry doesn’t live in a buzzing-with-life area of town. There’s a darkness in the alleys beside the buildings where no light comes in, which makes Harry nervous. He nears the next set of apartments when he hears this voice. Someone saying his name in this low voice in the closest alley.

"Harry Styles," it is said so quietly. Harry immediately looks up, but can only see the outline of a figure that is larger than he. Only their hands are visible in the light that hits them, their fingers scratching at something on their knuckles. Something that has smeared and dried against the skin. Harry continues walking- thinking that maybe he’s hallucinating- and he’s going to veer to the other side of the street when the voice speaks again.

"Harry Styles." It is louder than the first. A hand catches Harry's shoulder, but it isn't the figure's. Someone is with them. It’s funny how the first thing Harry thought is _Oh God, please don’t mug me_ , as if there couldn’t be worse thing s to be done to him. _Ironic_  in that Harry has just lost his job and doesn’t have the money to fucking pay rent.

The person in front of Harry steps closer to him, and Harry notices what has dried on their hands. Blood. He can feel himself beginning to tremble.

"You try to run, and we'll find you." The figure in front of him says in this drunken tone. Harry finally recognizes their voice. Harry’s stomach drops.

He steps out into the dim light. His eyes are bloodshot from drinking too much. Leonard Hilton presses a palm to Harry's cheek, who flinches away when he does. Hilton narrows his eyes, and drops his hand. In only a split second it has become a fist and is at Harry's cheek again, this time with much more force.

“Shouldn’t have done what you did, it wouldn’t have had to come to this, Mr. Styles.”

He can taste the blood in his mouth, sure that there is more to it than this one throw. He closes his eyes tightly. Again and again are fists at his cheek, stomach, and groin. Harry understands now what the purpose of the man behind him is: to make Harry into a punching bag for the drunk before him.“Stop it,” he pleads, and Hilton’s hand is in his hair, pulling Harry’s head upwards to meet his gaze.

“What did you say to me, boy?” he hisses. Harry doesn’t say another word, but in his mind he’s begging for it all to stop. It isn't one of those things where Harry thinks he deserves it. He knows he doesn't. He knows if he opens his mouth he’ll be greeted with more hurt. Even if he can open his mouth anyways, he’s not sure he’d be able to scream. He can barely breathe. Maybe he’s convinced it wouldn’t be more than a whimper, much less a call for help. Or maybe it’s that he thinks that if he screamed, people wouldn't try and help. It isn't as if it hasn't happened before. There’s this point where he stops feeling anything. Everything is numb, and Harry is tired. He just wants to go home.

Bruised and bloody-faced, Harry is on his side, curled up against the brick wall of the alley. The water from the puddles of rain have soaked through his clothes. He doesn't know how long ago they left, but he lays there in the alley holding his face in his hands.  After a while Harry gains back that feeling and- _God_ , he hurts. Everywhere.

He is looking at the brick walls across him. He can feel the rocks beneath him shift as Harry breathes, which don't make the pain any more bearable. He sucks in another shaky breath.

It might've been hours before Harry decides that he needs to get up. _Go home, already_. Those remaining three blocks are a nightmare. He’s shivering and hugging himself and waiting for people to look at him disgust, few as there are on the streets. As if they know. But they don’t pay him any attention, this boy who looks like he might have tripped into a puddle or something. _Or something_.

Inside his flat, Harry doesn't feel any better. He quickly realizes that Louis isn't there, probably having had gone home after Harry hadn't shown up. He sets the keys on the counter as he heads into the kitchen. He doesn't bother to change, it doesn't matter to him if he does. His eyes linger on the unopened packages of cigarettes that Louis never took with him. Harry continues to the fridge, which is still as empty as earlier that week, though he grabs the three beer bottles into his hands and sets them over onto the counter. Unfortunate.

He looks through the cupboards for something to eat, but is still unsuccessful. The kitchen is bare.

Harry's eyes catch the cigarettes again.

He wanders back to the counter and starts opening one of the packages. It's funny because Harry has never been a huge smoker compared to Louis, even though Harry is the one who's gotten his boyfriend stuck on the deadly habit. He picks out one of the sticks, and held the smooth roll in his hands. _Shit_.He doesn't even know where his lighter is. He puts the cigarette on the counter and  goes into the living room. Surely Louis had lost _one_  of his lighters in the couch cushions, right? He pulls them off the couch and onto the floor.  A couple pencils, and a used condom are there, but no lighter. _Fuck_.

Into the bedroom, and through a couple drawers, and still no lighter to be- the goddamn nightstand. It sits right there on the nightstand. Harry has probably looked right over it about five times before noticing it sitting there.

He grabs the pack of cigarettes from the counter in the kitchen, as well as the bottles of beer, and sticks the one cigarette in between his lips. Harry hasn't yet light it, but decides to take the other pack as well and goes into the bathroom, and shuts the door.

*

He feels numb. The burning sensation has left his throat some time ago, and is only left with this growing numbness inside of him. He still coughs sometimes, but it isn't so much from lack of experience as it is from the thick fog around Harry. His eyes are red from crying, and his cheeks sting from the tears.

The vents do nothing, they'd broken sometime back in September.

Harry is tired of everything. He'd started on that second pack of cigarettes about fifteen minutes ago, and finished the third bottle sometime before that.

He doesn't hear Louis come into the flat. Only when he doesn't find him in his usual spots (under the bed covers, on the couch) does Louis come into the bathroom, and that is only once he notices the light under the door. It hits him like a goddamn freight train, the odor of the cigarettes and alcohol.

"Bloody hell, Haz, couldn't you have waited for me to use all my smokes?"

Harry doesn't respond, only focuses on finishing his current cigarette. His head is lowered, and he is looking down at his feet.

Louis takes a deep breath and his eyes lower as he exhales. Lower and lower still, until they stop on Harry's knees, he's rolled up his pants from sweating so much. They are dry with blood and scrapes (his clothes are dirty and soaked) and make Louis' brows furrow further.

"What happened to you, Haz?" Harry is scratching his head, trying to think of something.

"I fell, didn't think it mattered much." he mumbles. His boyfriend is shaking his head. Oh, the lies he’s told. Everything he’s hidden from Louis in the past month, only to just be crumbling down around Harry. Like goddamn Pompeii.

"How many times have I told you that you need to take better care of yourself?" _Oh please, I've said it to you more often than you have tried it on me, you douchebag_. Harry raises his head finally, and his eyes caught Louis', whose own quickly become wide. With Harry's red eyes and swollen face, they both know Harry never fell.

" _Harry. what. the. hell. happened. to. you_."

 _Nothing that matters_.

"Harry." He says again. Louis’ voice is soft. And Harry just falls apart.

*

Louis has managed to get Harry onto the couch in the living room and calm him down enough that he can speak. Harry is avoiding Louis' gaze.

"Haz, we need to talk about this." Louis says finally. Harry closes his eyes.  
  
It’s still fresh in his mind. The whispers, the touching, the crying.  
  
His voice is quiet and shaky and broken. “Can I have a smoke?”  
  
"H- yeah." Louis hands him a cigarette hesitantly, and lights it for Harry once it is in his mouth. Louis obviously thinks that Harry doesn't need another one, but how the hell else is he supposed to get any information from his boyfriend otherwise. They sit there for some time, the only sound is of Harry letting out smoke from his lungs. Harry wonders what Louis thinks had happened. Maybe that Harry had overheard assholes talking about some pathetic gay kid and confronted them and got his arse kicked. Or possibly that he’d gotten hit by a bloody truck or something. Not possibly that he was attacked by his drunk ex-boss.

“I lost my job, Lou.” it’s almost a whisper.  
  
“You lost your job.” _That can’t be all_ , are the unspoken words written on Louis’ face. “And why did you lose your job?” _Why didn't you tell me?_

“I quit.”  
  
“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing? I know you hated working there.”  
  
“I didn’t quit for the reasons you think.” Louis locks his gaze on Harry.  
  
“Did someone- hurt you there?”  
  
Harry takes some time before answering. “Not until my last day.” There is this ill look on Louis’ face. Like he's going to throw up any second.  "It was Hilton. He was always really nice to me up until this point, he even offered to put my designs on the runway for the London Fa-”

“It was your boss?”  
  
"I-yeah. I knew that he wasn't good when I started working for him, I just didn't realize _bad_ until he found out I wasn't into women. The occasional hand on my waist or a stupid fucking wink. Sometimes he'd reject my work, and get this smirk on his face that said ‘I control you’ and I don’t know Lou, I-I was scared. I felt trapped."  
  
"Jesus, Haz, why would you stick around for that?" He doesn’t mean to make it sound rude, but he can see Harry flinch away when he says is. God help this boy. He just wants to make everything better, but he also needs Harry to talk to him. Open up some.  
  
"You don't understand. It's-I needed that job."  
  
"He was manipulating you."  
  
"That's why I quit. I quit my job and I tried looking for a new one, but I obviously couldn't get a good reference from him, which meant I was the equivalent of an inexperienced designer without that on my resume." He takes a shaky breath before continuing. "I had just gotten your text when I started walking home from looking for a job tonight when he found me, and I noticed there was something wrong with him. Hilton was extremely drunk and pissed off and there was this man with him who held me as he-" Harry was trembling. "He did everything he could do in a state to make me hurt for quitting the stupid internship. He wanted for me to beg for my job back, he wanted me to pay for humiliating him and-" Harry doesn’t know how he’d made it that far. He is crying again, and Louis holds him in his arms, whispering to him that it’s okay.

There’s something that breaks inside of the both of them right then. For Louis it’s that Harry’s hurting and he can’t glue the pieces back together. For Harry, it’s the fear that he won’t ever be the same again, that Louis will leave him because of it.

*

Louis gets Harry back into the bathroom (which has cleared of most of the smoke thanks to the open door), and helps strip him down so that Harry can shower. There’s this look Louis has on his face, he looks like he’s going to break down into tears. Harry has this anxious feeling brewing in his stomach, he feels like at any moment that look on his boyfriend’s face might be replace with one of disgust. He should know, he _knows_  Louis would never do that. He’s not like that. It’s just this irrational fear Harry has. Losing the one person he loves the most.

Each garment of clothing reveals more bruises and cuts and Louis is fucking _devastated_. It’s every brush of Louis’ fingers on Harry’s skin as he pulls off his clothes that the curly one flinches away, even though he doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t mean to, Harry really wishes it his body would stop reacting to this. He shouldn’t be afraid of Louis. He’s _not_  afraid of Louis, it’s just- every time he closes his eyes he sees a flash of Hilton hurting him, hurting him. Louis hasn’t done anything wrong to Harry for him to react like this and he hates it. When he does flinch, Louis quickly pulls his hands away, and he apologizes, and Harry can see the hurt in his eyes when he looks into them, though Louis tries to hide it.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” Harry chokes out, he still can barely breathe from the sobbing and hiccuping. Before he even finishes his sentence Louis is shaking his head and swallowing hard.

“You aren’t the one who should be sorry love,” Louis whispers. “This should’ve never happened to you.”

Harry’s undressed, and Louis’ turning on the knob for the water in the bathtub and lifting the bit of metal for the showerhead and Harry gets into the shower when it’s warm enough.

Louis doesn’t leave the bathroom, but sits against the door, his knees up to his chest, and he’s crying. God, if only he’d been there to save him from getting hurt. If only he’d known about Harry losing his job, looking for a job. If only if only if only. He knows that Harry’s broken and he knows Harry wants to forget about it, to ignore it (it’s what he’s always done).

Louis only notices Harry’s not washing himself down when he murmurs his name. “Louis?” it’s so quiet. Louis’ on his feet and brushing away his own tears when he pulls away the shower curtain, and Harry's sitting in the tub letting the water rain down on him. He's trembling, hands furiously scrubbing at his skin; the bruises and cuts and dirt on his body.

"I-I can't get them off Lou, I try scrubbing it off but they won't-" He is sobbing and scared.

Louis grabs his hands in his own and makes Harry drop the rag that he’d been using. “It’ll only make it worse.” he murmurs. Harry’s head is lowered, the droplets of water are on his eyelashes, his nose, his mouth.

“I can still feel his hands on me,” Louis feels so _much_ for Harry. He feels everything in that moment. So much anger for this man who has hurt this innocent boy, so much sadness for Harry who is suffering, so much love for him.

Louis only gets up to get a towel for Harry, this light blue fluffy one that Harry’s always loved, and he turns off the water. Harry is dried off before being wrapped within it, and they’re both sitting on the bathroom floor, Harry’s dripping dark curls soaking Louis’ shoulder as he rests his head there. Louis hugs his arms around Harry and his towel. They don’t talk, just try to breathe again.

It’s a long time before Louis finally takes Harry to his bedroom to get him changed into clean pajamas and put him into bed. Harry’s eyes are dried up and irritated from all of the crying, only having stopped because he couldn’t breathe and kept getting hiccups. He’s _exhausted_. Louis kisses him on his hairline and goes to turn out the light and leave when Harry finally speaks again.

“Will you stay here?”

“Yeah, I’ll go make a bed on the couch for myself.”

“No, Lou, will you stay with me?” Harry’s voice is still shaky.

“Of course,” and Louis changes into a pair of sweatpants that he brought for sleepovers at some early point in their relationship. Louis turns off the lights and gets underneath the bed covers and lays there, watching Harry for the longest time, watching the way Harry falls to sleep before he finally does as well.

 

Harry’s waking thoughts the next morning are that he’d rather be buried alive than have to get out of bed. Except he does at some point, only because he can't take the pounding headache anymore. His entire body aches and Harry can vividly remember all the things Hilton did to him. Everywhere his grimy hands touched Harry's body. It makes him want to puke.

Louis is lying right beside Harry, sound asleep. Even unconscious Harry recognizes the worry creases on Louis' forehead. He's caused those.

He slowly and quietly gets up, trying not to wake Louis when he does. Harry puts on these slippers that were a gift for him last Christmas, and he goes to the kitchen for medicine. Every step hurts, and Harry just wants to collapse by the time he’s looking through the cupboards for the box of meds that he keeps there. Harry hasn’t yet looked in a mirror, but he’s sure that his face is swollen and bruised. He can barely move his jaw without having to squeeze his eyes shut from the pain.

He gets a glass of water and tips a bottle of pills into his hand, counting them as they go. Then he’s popping the into his mouth and sipping the water and swallowing. God, he never wants to smoke again.

Harry just wants the pain to all go away. His entire _body_  is throbbing.

Harry turns when he hears footsteps coming towards him to see Louis’ gotten up and he’s running his hand through his own hair as he trudges towards Harry. There’s this weak smile on his face, as if he’s worried that Harry might break down at any moment.

“How’re you feeling?”

“‘M okay.” They both know that isn’t true. Louis can see the bottle of pills on the counter behind Harry, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

He _knows_  he’s not okay. He _knows_ he should talk to someone about what happened, but he doesn’t _want_  to. He just wants to forget.

 

Louis just wants to see that sparkle in Harry’s eyes again.

It’s been weeks. Louis might as well be living with Harry because he’s been staying over since it happened and has had to ask Zayn to feed the cat while he’s been away. When Louis’ at work, his mind is on Harry. How he’s doing, wondering whether or not he’s fed himself, if he’s going to try doing something to himself to try and lessen the pain.

He’s also paid Harry’s rent against Harry’s will (Harry actually locked himself in the bathroom with the box of envelopes so that Louis couldn’t send out the check in the mail, and then Louis had to tell him that he’d let Harry pay half with his savings money before he unlocked the door).

The swelling’s gone down, but Harry’s emotional state is the same. It’s actually become worse since the nightmares have come, and Harry never gets any sleep anymore because of it.

Once, he’d been unable to sleep for the first four hours of the night, and just lay there until he finally drifted when he woke up screaming and shaking.

“Harry, Harry, it’s okay, you’re here with me.” Louis had had him by the shoulders. “Come on, let’s go into the kitchen and make you something to help you sleep better.” Louis turned on a couple of lights, squinting and rubbing his eyes. “Hot chocolate? Seems the tea is getting in your head.” Mmm, that was an understatement. Hilton’s face was vivid in Harry’s mind, and he couldn’t get it out. How long would it be until Louis gave up on him and left? he’d wondered. How much time would pass until he decided that Harry was too much for him and would just leave Harry on his own to melt in this awful memory?

“Harry? Do you want to kitten mug or no?” He was too sweet for Harry. He didn’t deserve any of this. _You should just let go of me . Get on with your life_  (he can't say he isn't dramatic).

“Yeah. I want the kitten mug.” He just wants Harry to be okay again.

Sometimes Harry will end up staying awake the remainder of the night, assuring Louis that he’s fine and tells him to go back to bed, and sometimes Louis does.

 

There are mornings every once in a while that are particularly bad. Harry feels vulnerable and almost childlike. He just lays there in bed, fluttering to and from sleep, and some hours he’s wide awake, trembling at the thought of Hilton. Louis will sit with him and rub his back and whisper comforting words to Harry, and he feels a little bit safer. He’s curled into a ball and Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s thick, curly hair.

“You alright, love? You want me to make you some tea?” he is nodding in answer, and Louis moves to get up, but Harry’s hand goes to the bottom of his t-shirt.

“Haz, if you want me to get you tea, then you have to let me go.” Harry doesn’t loosen his grip. “Do you want to come with me?” Louis puts his hand around Harry’s wrist, and holds it. It is this slow transition from the bed to standing up, but his boyfriend is patient with him. When he finally does get up, Louis slips his own hand into Harry’s and they go into the kitchen. Louis pulls out a chair for his curly-haired boy and kisses him on the forehead before pouring water into the dark blue kettle and sets it on the stove. Once he does, Louis sits down across Harry and gives him a sad smile.

“You think you can make it through the day today?” A small nod is given from Harry who’s been looking out the window beside them as soon as he sat down. Outside the skies are grey, and a thin layer of rainwater covers the city around them. “You’ll be alright, Haz, I’m here with you.” He notices it, the tears welling up in Harry’s eyes. “I promise that I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” He gets out of his chair and kneels down next to Harry and holds his hands and kisses them. “I won’t let you go.”

They both jump at the screeching of the kettle, signaling Louis to prepare a mug and bag of tea. Harry watches him as he gets up before turning his head back to the window. “I need to go get some stuff from my flat so I can stay over a couple nights. I know you don’t want to be alone so I’m asking Zayn to come over and hang out for a bit while I pack. Will you be okay?” Louis is stirring in the sugar and watching Harry with wary eyes.  He sets down the mug in front of him when Harry whispers, “Lou, you can’t tell them.” Louis’ lips are thin, but he understands. “I won’t.” He just needs Harry to tell _someone_.

It’s as if Harry has kind of latched onto Louis, following him around like this. He’s never felt so useless in his life, just moping and crying- _god there is a lot of crying_ \- and Harry hates it. He hates Louis having to see him in such pain, and needing him every five seconds for comfort. He is tired. Harry hadn’t slept well the night before, and he knows he won’t get any better nights to come.

 

It’s come to the point where Louis’ brought Gulliver to come stay with Harry for when he has to leave him to go to work, though reluctant to leave him at all. Though the fatarse is a terrible guard animal, he’s good company for Harry. They’re both quiet and have become quite fond of one another over time, and it’s a good thing for the curly one. Louis tries, he really does.

Harry. He's a gentle soul and has the most uplifting spirit you'll ever see, with light eyes and a loud laugh. But he's also the kid who was bullied in school for liking dresses and help the girls in his class with their messed up headbands and unknit shoelaces because he's nice and he likes helping others. The one who never had many friends before he and Louis met over two years ago, because he was always considered weird by the people at school. The quiet one who rarely complains about anything because he's afraid he'll hurt someone else's feelings (Louis sure did have a tough time pulling him out of such a habit, because he _knows_ Harry wants things and it's important that he does things for his well-being and all). Harry's beautiful and soft and lovely and this isn't the first time he's seen this boy broken and falling apart, but. He can see it in his eyes that Harry's in pain: physically, emotionally and mentally. This is the worst that Louis' ever seen him, really.   
  
And it breaks his heart to have to watch Harry pull himself out of bed some days, because he knows how much effort it takes and Louis just wants to curl up with him in bed for hours and whisper that it will all be okay and _let it be okay_.  
  
He has to keep him occupied, somehow. Trying to get him to do something like his laundry or singing.  Louis knows he can't let Harry go to that dark state in his mind, because he doesn't know if he'll be able to come back out of it.  
  
So Louis begs for Harry to take him to the doctor until he agrees. They sit in a white room, the only color from a painting of a beach hanging from the wall, and wait for someone to tell Louis that they can get Harry to be himself again.  
  
It starts with prescriptions. An antidepressant that Louis can't remember the name of, but the doctor says will help Harry's brain work better in a way, make it easier to get out of bed, take a shower, those kinds of everyday tasks.  
  
Then there's anxiety medication to help control the panic attacks. In a way, it eases Louis' worry some. Harry doesn't wake up screaming and crying so often in the middle of the nights, though he looks just as exhausted.   
  
It's achingly slow.

 

There are times, every once in a while, when Louis can’t get off work early for Harry, such as this night. He calls Harry to tell him that Zayn and the boys are coming to pick him up, and that they’ll be there shortly.

Today’s been a rather good day. Harry’s just petting Gulliver who sits on his lap as he’s sketching. That is one of the only things in Harry’s life that’s been a constant (most would think after what’s happened Harry would be afraid to draw again, but this is not the case). As broadcasted runway show is on in the background Harry’s drawing the straps to a dress that he’s been working on. He knows this is something that gives Louis hope that Harry will be better eventually.

There’s a knock at the door and a, “Harry, please tell Niall here that kidnapping the flowershop guy is rude!” He moves the cat off of his lap, to which he receives an annoyed mewl, and onto the couch cushion and goes to unlock the door. Zayn and Niall are nearly about to stumble into him, and Liam’s leaning against the wall, shaking his head.

“They’ve been arguing for the past hour about this. Niall thinks it’d be cute to kidnap the guy working at the flowershop by Zayn’s flat and take him out on a date, Zayn thinks although it’d be funny and traumatising for him, it’d be a bit rude.”

“And uh, what’s your opinion Li?”

“I think it’s illegal.” Naturally he would. Zayn’s already somehow disappeared inside the flat, probably packing clothes for Harry, because that’s what he does. Probably too many as well, as last time he’d packed enough for two weeks. Niall’s ducked under Harry’s arm holding the door open and into the kitchen. Liam has this weird expression on his face like he’d rather not have listened to the two arguing for the entire hour.

“You can come in,” Harry says, and Liam nods and follows Harry inside.

Louis’ only told the boys extremely vague details about what’s happened. That Harry can’t stay at the flat alone at night and that sometimes his mind wanders to dark places and they’ll have to shake him out of it. Harry’s sure they all have their theories, but the boys don’t ask about it. Instead they try to put his mind on other things, like betting on who can drink the most beer. Which would be the Irish one, though Zayn comes in close second on a good day.

“Harry, why have you got this Rolex watch in your dresser drawer? I didn’t know you could afford something like this!” calls Zayn from his bedroom. Harry freezes. He’s completely forgotten about the watch.

“You alright mate?” Liam’s voice seems distant though he’s standing right beside Harry.

“I’m- yeah. I’m fine.” It takes him another moment to compose himself. Zayn pops his head out from the hallway.

“These are the most expensive and high quality watches in the world, how’d you get your hands on one of these?”

“It was a gift,” Harry finally answers.

“Yeah? Man, you’ve got to introduce me to this friend of your’s then, would you do that?” Harry feels himself breathing hard, and suddenly he finds himself desperately needing Louis.

“Hey mate, I was just making a joke. Don’t feel obligated or anything.” Liam’s hands are on Harry’s shoulders, trying to steady him.

“Harry? Should we call Louis for you?” He must look mad to them. His eyes are widening, and Harry’s shaking his head, “No, no you can’t tell him about this.” Liam gives him a silent nod and leads him to the couch to sit down. _You’re fine, you can get through this_.

“Li, what do you think we should do tonight?” Zayn asks, returning to the living area with one of Harry’s duffle bags.

“I dunno, we should wait until we go over to your place.” Harry doesn’t know how _long_  it’s been since he’s stayed over at Louis and Zayn’s flat. God, when they’d first met, Harry’d thought Louis was way out of his league. Turns out he was right, but Louis absolutely adored it.

“Cool, I’m ready if you guys are.” Zayn says, and Niall walks in just then, hand stuffed inside a bag of marshmallows that had probably expired ages ago.

“I’m ready too,” he says, and Harry laughs quietly.

“What?”

“I’ve had those things in my cupboard for about a year,” but Niall shrugs and takes out a handful of the white powdery things and pops them into his mouth.

“Taste just fine to me.”

Zayn is standing at the doorway rather impatiently for the rest of them. “Well, if you’re all ready to go now, let’s get on with it!”

*

Harry doesn’t drink. Liam has one or two, but not nearly enough to get drunk like Zayn and Niall, who are holding their stomachs as they laugh on the floor, bubbly and light. Somehow, they’ve managed to get Harry’s mind off of all his troubles. He’s thankful for his mates here for him.

“I feel like a motherfucking cloud, Li.” is Zayn, an almost empty bottle in one of his hands as he waves them about. Niall’s beside him, hiccuping and mumbling unintelligibly in Irish.

He’s sitting on the couch beside Liam, both smiling as they watch the ones on the floor before them.

“It’s really too bad you aren’t. You’d be less of a bother.”

“A _bother_? You told me just yesterday that you really wanted to-” Zayn’s cut off by Liam grabbing him by the arm and pulling him out into the kitchen.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we? We don’t want you waking up with a terrible hangover.” leaving Harry and a nearly passed out Niall. Though he can hold his liquor, Niall is good at sleeping off his drunkenness. It’s been a long night for the four of them, with two movies and a game of monopoly (to which Zayn tried making it the strip version- you don’t want to know how), and Harry wouldn’t mind going to bed right now if it weren’t for the vomiting noises coming from the kitchen.

He would sleep in Louis’ bed, but he didn’t want to leave Niall in the living room by himself as Liam and Zayn would sleep in Zayn’s room (Liam asked Harry multiple times if he was sure it’d be okay if they left him out in the living room by himself, and Harry replied that it was fine, he’d be fine). So Harry goes and grabs a blanket and pillow off of Louis’ bed, and takes them with him back to the couch. By the time he has, Zayn seems to have finished puking and it’s quiet in the flat. He flips off the main light in the living room, with only a low light coming from above the stove in the kitchen.

*

He wakes up in the middle of the night with a familiar urge. Harry curses his bladder and stumbles into the bathroom connected to Zayn’s bedroom (unfortunately it’s the only one), careful not to wake them. Harry stares at the green leafed shower curtain beside him when he hears noises coming from outside the bathroom. It’s Zayn murmuring something he can’t hear. When Harry finishes and zips up his pants, he nears the door and can hear them _going at it_. Shit. He’d thought they were _sleeping_. Harry of course didn’t want them to know he was in there- because it would be weird right, knowing your mate can hear you having sex? But they /had/ to know he was in there, they couldn’t have just woke up and wanted to do it. Then again, Harry has heard plenty of things about Zayn doing things like this from Louis over the past two years.

And Harry thinks Louis is a sex addict.

He gets nervous, they’re already too far into it for Harry to just leave the bathroom now, so he sits down against the wall, trying to block out the noises. God, they’re noisy.

Harry realizes he has his cell on him, and takes it out of his pocket to call Louis.

“Are you okay? It’s really late, Haz. Did something happen?”

“I- uh, I don’t know.” Harry’s whispering into the phone.

“Did you have a nightmare, Harry? Do I need to come home?”

“No, no, it’s not that- I, I went to the bathroom, and I thought they were sleeping but they’re-” Harry pauses, “Zayn and Liam are having sex and I think it’s too late for me to escape.” He can hear Louis on the other end, laughing.

“Louis this is no laughing matter, this is serious.”

“I’m sorry, I really am Haz, it’s just, oh god- I’ll be there in a minute.” Louis work is only a couple blocks away from his place, not too far a walk.

“Be careful, Lou.”

“I will, I love you, I’ll see you in a little bit.” He hung up the phone, and could hear the rattling of the bedframe in the other room. Harry had his hands covering his ears, just waiting for it to stop. He didn’t know how long it was before he can hear the bedroom door opening and Louis’ “God could you two be any louder? I could hear you all the way from work!” and he’s walking across the room and opening the bathroom door, and kneeling down next to Harry.

“Are you traumatized?” He holds a hand out for Harry to take, and he helps him onto his feet.

“Mm alright,” Harry mumbles, putting his hands around Louis’ neck. He kisses Louis on the mouth, which surprises the both of them. Harry can barely remember the last time they did that. But they both move into the kiss after a stunned moment (Louis more unsure about it than anything, ready to let go at any second if Harry changed his mind), and Harry is draping himself over Louis, he wants him so badly now.

“Maybe we should wait a bit, Haz,” Louis’ murmuring into his lips, “It’s been a while for the both of us.” He doesn’t _want_ to wait, but he knows Louis is right. They haven’t actually had sex for some time, and neither of them know Harry’s limits. So Harry lets Louis take him by the hand out of Zayn’s bedroom, neither of them giving a glance to the stark naked ones on the bed, and into Louis’ room, which smells a lot nicer than Zayn’s, though you can still smell the unwashed clothes and stale air from the lack of window-usage because of the amount of time Louis’ spent at Harry’s.

“You haven’t even changed out of your trousers, you dork.” Louis laughs quietly tossing Harry’s duffle to him that someone had thrown in here earlier.

“Too tired.” Harry replies, unzipping the bag. He quickly finds his sweatpants in there, along with three pairs of trainers for some reason? and this heavy coat for the winter time.

“What does Zayn even think when packing my stuff?” Harry mutters under his breath. “That I’m going to be hit with a blizzard in the spring?”

He changes out of his jeans and into the sweats and joins Louis in his bed. This is the first day that he’s been able to keep his mind off of what happened, and Harry knows as he falls asleep in Louis’ arms that this is the start of the healing process. He knows that it will get better.

 

The door creaks open in the early hours of the morning (that being about eight, actually) revealing Zayn’s irritated face in the doorway. Harry blinks and notices he’s not staring at Harry, but at Louis. Zayn’s hair looks ridiculous.

“Lou, get your fat arse up and come get the phone.”

“Wh-wha?” Louis rubs his eyes and turns to look at Zayn from the odd sleeping position he’d been in.

“Someone called my cell and it’s not for me, it’s for you.”

“Are you jealous that no one ever calls you, Zayn?” Louis muses sleepily. Harry snickers. This results in Zayn rolling his eyes and chucking the cell at Louis’ head, to which he nails him right above the bridge of his nose.

Louis puts a hand to his face, groaning in pain. “Fuck, why’d you do that?” But Zayn’s already gone out the door. Louis shakes his head and picks up the cell phone and puts it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“If you would like to donate to De-Feat Athlete’s Foot, please press 1”

“Goddammit.” Louis’ up out of bed and opening the door to the bedroom, “You’re a real motherfucker Zayn Malik!” Harry can see him lying on the couch laughing.

 

"Might be revenge for disturbing our love-making last night!" and Louis pulls a face of disgust, and throws the phone to Zayn and then adds, “Just so you know I donated ten pounds for your sake.” Now it’s his turn to laugh at his mate.

Harry gets up as well, looking out the window beside him. It’s the first time the sun has come out for a while. Suddenly he has this feeling that he wants to go outside, enjoy the fresh air.

“Haz?”

“Hmm?” Harry turns to Louis who’d been standing right behind him.

“Is something wrong?” Harry shakes his head and can truthfully say that he’s okay for once.

“I’m good. Hey Lou? Could we go out today?” There’s something that appears in Louis’ eyes, this gleam. Harry can tell he’s been waiting for this moment for a while.

“Of course.”

 

It’s  brisk outside during their walk through town this morning. Though not cold enough to wear the coat Zayn had packed for him, Harry instead wears one of the sweaters lent from Louis. It’s soft and light blue, Harry can smell Louis on it when he brings the sleeves to his face.

“You’re so adorable,” says Louis, and Harry’s blushing. His chocolatey curls falling around the frame of his face like that, Louis can’t handle it. He just wants to kiss Harry’s mouth and nose and rosy cheeks standing there on the sidewalk with him. He takes Harry’s hand in his, which makes Harry blush even more. Louis’ enjoying every moment with him.

There’s a pathway that leads through the local park, and Harry wants to walk through there; it’s one of his favorite places to go in the city.

“Come on, Lou!” he says so eagerly, and Louis is following right behind, hands still interlocked. He can’t fathom enough how deeply in love he is with Harry, every inch of him radiates beauty in Louis’ eyes.

There’s this canopy of trees above them, an array of colors throughout the leaves. Harry looks so fucking _gleeful_ about it, it’s absolutely ridiculous. It makes him so happy, which in turn makes Louis happy. They stand there on the pathway, the only ones around this part of the park at this hour, shivering and giggling like idiots.

They sit down on a bench and talk for a while. About how Harry’s night was with the boys, if they want to go to breakfast after this, and if Harry was getting too cold (his cheeks were still flushed, though not from Louis teasing him). Harry was resting his head on Louis’ shoulder, watching these two birds chase one another around the park before them as he hugged his arms around himself. Naturally Louis is worried about his boyfriend, who has always been prone to getting sick easily. But Harry assures him that he’ll be fine, and they continue sitting there for a while longer.

When they do decide to go get something to eat, it’s Louis who’s ushering Harry to the diner not even a full block away, not wanting to increase the risk of Harry getting ill. Harry just laughs at him adoringly and lets Louis tend to him, knowing if he doesn’t Louis’d have a fit.

 

“I knew it, I _knew_ it Harry Styles. Goddammit why didn’t you listen to me when I told you to bring a heavier coat?”

Harry is sick. It’s only a fever for christ’s sake, but Louis is furious about the whole thing, and honestly Harry’s just surprised Louis hasn’t taken him to the A&E yet. It’s only been a day since their visit to the park, Harry isn't even that sick. _Honestly_.

“Lou I’m _fine_ , I promise. I can get through a bloody fever easy, it’s _you_  who’s probably going to give me a heart attack.” Louis’ getting visibly irritated- Harry can tell, but there’s also something else there.

Harry’s sitting on the couch watching as Louis paces about the living room in Harry’s flat. He’s still wearing that blue sweater he’d borrowed from Louis yesterday. The fabric at his sleeves are balled up in his hands, he’s squeezing them, anxious from watching Louis pace around like that.

“Harry- Haz, come here.” He says after a moment, and Louis motion Harry over to him. He does as Louis says and comes to stand directly in front of him, gazing into Louis’ cloudy blue eyes.

“I’m sorry that I’m so worried about you, I am. But you- you don’t take care of yourself when it comes to these things, you know?”

“Speak for yourself,” Harry jokes, thinking about Louis’ inability to shop, and he sees Louis getting irritated again.

“ _Harry_ ,” he murmurs lowly, there’s something lustful in Louis’ eyes right now.

“Okay, I’m serious. I know you’re worried about me, but I’m getting better. I’m being completely honest with you, I’m better.” He’s wrapped his hands in Louis’, and he desperately wants Louis to kiss him.

His eyes flick away from Louis’ down to his lips. He knows Louis’ noticed when his hands tighten around Harry’s, and then bites on his bottom lip. He doesn’t care that he’s sick, he’ll risk getting worse if that means getting to kiss Louis again. Harry raises their hands above them and behind Harry’s neck, and Louis lets go, his own hands finding their way into Harry’s thick, curly hair. Harry lets his rest on Louis’ waist as he watches the way his jaw clenches. Oh how he’s trying to hold back.

“We don’t have to do this, Haz,” Louis whispers, but Harry’s already pressing his lips to his, and they’re both melting into it. Their kissing that is quickly becoming more and more sensual and passionate and they’re giggling as it does. Louis hands are gently tugging at his hair, and then at his clothes. Harry lets him pull his shirt up and off his head before his legs have become wrapped around Louis’ waist. Harry’s soft hands are gently lifting Louis’ face to meet his and he’s laughing as his curly hair gets in their faces as their lips touch again and it’s something they haven’t experienced for the longest time.

Pure love. That's the only way Harry can describe the waves radiating between them. With everything that’s happened in the past couple of months, they’ve become something... stronger.

Louis’ carried Harry into the bedroom now (it's not difficult even with Harry being mostly legs and all), kicking the door shut behind him as he does. He sits Harry on the bed before they start stripping, and then Louis finds himself on the bed beside Harry, slowly lowering the curly one onto his back. He moves to meet Harry’s pink lips. Louis wants to take this all slowly for the both of them. He wants to make sure Harry’s okay with everything, and he wants to make it last.

Louis begins downwards from Harry's mouth and against his jaw, then sucking and biting at his neck making red marks. He can hear Harry’s small whines and he smiles this smug little smile. Louis strays further to Harry’s bare chest, warm and delicately, and he grazes over his skin with his teeth, making Harry tense up.

“You alright, love?” Louis looks up to Harry, whose head is tilted back.

“Perfect.” It’s so breathless and quiet, he can feel Harry’s heartbeat underneath his hands. His entire _body_  is flushed, both from Harry’s sensitivity and from the fever.

"You're so lovely," Louis hums, pressing his lips onto Harry's milky skin. He's so warm and soft and he's giggling and Louis finds it adorable. "Pretty Harry."

"Louis, Lou Lou Lou..." He's mumbling softly. Louis' shifting his weight back onto the bed, and making circles on Harry's torso with his fingers,sending shivers down the curly-haired one's spine.

Harry’s turned over well enough that Louis is touching and kissing his arse ever so gently. His hands are like butterflies, fluttering about, making Harry want more, more, so much more. Then he's asking whether Harry still wants to go through with everything. Still. Harry does. There isn't a single part of his body that is having second thoughts.

"I want it all," Harry's voice is low. Louis laughs quietly.

"You know what I told you earlier. We're going to start slow, Haz. Take it one thing at a time."

He's whining still. "Fuck me, Louis, _please_."

"With time," is Louis' reply pressed into his belly.  He's itching for it, he really is. Harry can feel it in his touch, that Louis wants it just as badly as he does. It's just that there's _so much_  going through his mind as Louis touches him. It's nothing special yet it's everything. Louis' touch is becoming less nervous and more confident and loving as ever, though the look of worry hasn't really left his eyes.

It's mostly kissing, but Harry doesn't care. It's kind of Louis' deal, that because he wants to go slow he wants there to be more kissing than anything, though not like they haven't snogged once or twice since it happened. It's just a thing. Louis' thing. And Harry's okay with it, he's agreed to take it slow (but it's _agonizing_ ). When he finally runs his hand down Harry's length, when Harry's perked up and soft little gasps escape him, when Louis' face is right there next to it, like he's contemplating whether he should suck Harry's dick. He does. His tongue does a lot of the work at first, and Harry's grasping at the bed sheets with his hands. He can feel Louis smiling before he goes further and further, and fuck.

There's this vague glassy look in Louis' eyes afterwards, which makes Harry just want to cuddle him and kiss his face and hair and everything.

Take it slow. He keeps saying it in his head, over and over, and he knows it's going to be okay when Louis nuzzles his neck and he sort of falls asleep in Harry's arms, leaving Harry to just lie there, fingers brushing the nape of his neck. But before he passes out, Harry hears him murmur something under his breath, "I love you and your stupid smile."

*

Louis wakes up with a fever this morning.

"Serves you right for letting me out to the park."

"Wha- Harry- _you_ were the one who wanted to go- _I_ was the one who was trying to convince you to get a heavier coat. You motherfucker, I am not to blame here."

"Right and I _am_."

"Exactly, you are. I blame you every bit for it," he's got his hands under Harry's armpits in attempt at tickling him, which naturally he succeeds, and continues to Harry's stomach when he's giggling and begging for Louis to stop it before he pisses himself.

So Harry, who's feeling better from his own fever than he did the day before, gets the medicine from the cabinet in the kitchen and gives it to Louis. He also has a runny nose, and so with the amount of tissues he's used up, Louis' nose is all red and adorable.

They're sitting on the couch watching some stupid american cartoon as background noise as they cuddle because why the hell not they're both sick anyway it's not going to get worse, right?

"You're cute,"

"I'm _sick_ , Haz. It's not cute, it's disgusting."

"You weren't saying that about me yesterday." Louis laughs, shaking his head.

"That's different. Pink cheeks aren't runny noses. They aren't always caused by being  _ill_."

"That's not fair," Harry mutters when his cheeks betray him, flushing brighter than the fever has made them. Louis just grins.

"I know. I love making you embarrassed."

"Don't say it's cute."

"It's bloody adorable, Harold."

*

It's only a couple of days before Louis starts acting weird (not that he usually isn't, but) Harry gets these looks from Louis. Not like, anything bad, but just ones he hasn't seen for a while. Louis, terrible liar that he is, can't keep the secret in him for long.

"I, uh, wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, my love."

"It's been a while, since we you know, like, went on a date." Harry raises his eyebrows at this seemingly proposal. "I wanted to know if you would like to go on a date on Friday."

"My schedule seems clear for that day," It's a joke, even though a terrible one, it Louis claps him on the back and grins. "Perfect. We're on then."

*

Friday comes. Harry doesn't know exactly what to wear, so it's just a pastel button up and dark jeans. He rolls up the sleeves and puts on his light blue and purple headband with paisley all over it because his curls keep falling in his face. Louis' at his own place getting ready because he wants it to be a "proper" date.

He still doesn't know where they're going because Louis won't tell him. Not a single thing. Not even a hint when Harry begs for it, he _hates_ being out of the loop. Loves surprises, but he's not good at being patient about it.

There's this knocking at the door, he knows it's Louis by the rapidness of it the tap tap tapping. Harry goes to answer it, and Louis has _flowers_  in his hands.

"These are for you." Harry laughs as Louis hands them to him. They're white orchids, and they smell wonderful.

"My favorite flowers, even," Harry murmurs as he kisses Louis on the mouth, "thank you."

"We better get going, then."

It's a surprise when they go to the park by Louis' flat, he has no idea what they're doing. Are they just passing through or- no. Harry sees the blanket on the ground, the basket beside the napping Zayn.

"What's he doing here?"

"Oh," Louis kicks Zayn's foot, which wakes him up.

"Heeey,"

"He was saving our place for us. Because I wanted to go get you. Thanks for that, by the way, mate."

"No problem. Got me away from Li for a bit. As much as I love him, he hasn't let me sleep a wink in the past week." Zayn gets up onto his feet and gives them both a little wave. "I'll see you kids later, don't get into trouble." The boys both wave as he leaves them, walking back down the pathway they came from.

Louis' quick to open this bottle of wine after they sit down on the blanket. There aren't many people around as they're further from the path.

It's _nice_ to just talk to his boyfriend. Nothing to worry about, they're both in a great moods, and it's sunny outside. Not cold, but not extremely warm, and they're just happy to be around each other. They sit and eat the little sandwiches that Louis packed, and they sip on the red wine until their vision becomes staticky at the edges, and their heads buzzing.

They make out shapes of clouds, like dragons and trees and birds and, “no Harry that was an actual bird.”

“Oh.” But Louis just laughs and kisses him on the neck and Harry smiles and laughs with him.

They lay like that for a long time, napping under the sky and just being with one another. It’s calming and lovely, and Harry enjoys every moment there with his boyfriend.

When they’re finished, the boys decide to go back to Louis' flat for a sort of sleepover. Zayn's not there, instead having gone to Liam's or something for their own night in. So they talk some more before falling asleep on the couch together, and that's it.

 

Sometime later, Harry decides to do something he’s been thinking about a lot lately. It’s not one of those spontaneous “Did you really just do that” kind of thing. Harry’s asked Louis to come and help, mostly because Harry doesn’t know who else owns a club hammer and is willing to see one of the most expensive watches either of them have ever seen be destroyed.

“Got the hammer,” Louis says as he walks through the open doorway of Harry’s flat. “Hazza, why’s your door open?”

“First of all, you had a brilliant chance to use, “It’s hammertime” just now, and you’ve ruined it. And I accidentally burnt pancakes earlier, I guess I forgot to close it.”

Louis chuckles as Harry nears him. “So where we doing this, then? I assume not in here because your landlord might murder you?”

“The alley out back. I’m sure our neighbours won’t mind.”

“It’s for a good cause.” Louis says, and Harry rolls his eyes. “Let’s get out of here, MC Hammer.”

*

The watch is placed onto a short cement wall that separates the alley from this little shop next to Harry’s apartment building. The hammer is handed to the curly haired boy who unfortunately isn’t wearing shimmering gold pants.

Louis clears his throat and says, “Now before we begin, we must perform a ritual.”

“Wait, a what?”

“Harold, you’ve got to keep your ears clear, love.”

“And uh, what’s this ritual exactly?” There’s a moment of Louis digging through his back trouser pocket and then he takes whatever it is out, holding it in his hand.

“It’s the fake sort, unfortunately, but then again I don’t know if the real kind would have survived the journey here.” They’re _flower crowns_. Harry can’t help but laugh.

“I haven’t worn one of those in ages,” He says, proceeding to make grabby hands at the crowns. “Gimme.”

“Settle down, dear Harold.” Louis takes one of them and places it on Harry’s head, immediately tangling with his brown curls. Little pink flowers and bendy wires and false green leaves. “Gorgeous.” Then he takes the other one and puts it on his own head, one with small daisies.

“Let the smashing commence.” Louis stands against the brick wall on the opposite side of the cement one, watching Harry as he picks up the hammer and weighs it in his hand. “You sure you still want to do this?”

Louis doesn’t so much get a reply, instead greeted with the sound of metal smashing against whatever the hell the club hammer is made out of, and somehow Harry looks fucking gleeful about it. Then he realizes the danger, but like, Harry doesn’t seem to know that at any second a piece of metal or glass could hit him in the eye, and Louis immediately regrets not buying those science goggles at the market whilst he was there earlier today. Luck seems to be on their side, though, because Harry doesn’t once get hit by little bits of shrapnel from the watch as he totals it. They probably look like angry hippies that hate modern technology or something.

Then, it’s over. Harry considers burning the remains of the watch, but ends up deciding that they should just bury it somewhere.

“We could just litter and leave it here.” Louis suggests at some point, but is given a look and a reply of, “ _Lewis_ , I’m trying to be symbolic here.” Well, at least he tried.

It takes them until sunset to find a place to bury the thing, which is about a block away behind some abandoned warehouse. On their knees they dig with their hands because they’ve forgotten a shovel, but dirt seems to be loose enough from the amount of rain, and put what’s left of the watch into the ground. Cover it up with more dirt, stamp at it a bit with their shoes, and by the time the sun goes down Harry and Louis are on their way back to the flat, hand in hand, flower crowns still upon their dorky little heads.

 

It gets better really. There are better days. Of course, along with those there are naturally bad days, and on few unlucky occasions there are very bad days. But Louis takes care of him on those days when he really needs it, and they just cuddle and drink hot tea and watch sappy movies.

Harry's gotten a job at this little place down the road from his flat. It's a small designing company, with only four of them, but Harry rather enjoys it. It's quite most days, peaceful. He gets to make a lot of input for designs, this elderly woman who's his boss adores him and his "curly locks of fashion". He's made friends with the other designers as well, two girls who laugh at Harry's terrible jokes, and even make some of their own.

(Sometimes on a slow night they’ll dress up in the clothes that are to be recycled as other clothing, and strut along the narrow carpet between tables. Leather pants, short dresses, and some days the dreaded crop top Harry will wear, and he’ll send Louis pictures and videos of them dancing and having a good time, and Louis will reply back that he’ll make sure to file it away in his folder for if Harry lies at Truth or Dare that “no, I’ve never worn a crop top”).

One day when Harry’s ready, Louis takes his hand in his and have a sit in with the three other boys that he trusts his life with, and tells them what happened almost three months ago. And of course, they’re understanding why wouldn’t they be, and they all come to hug Harry afterwards. He thanks them for being there for him. And then Niall excitedly tells them the news that he’s gotten the flowershop boy’s number and that they’re setting up a date in the next week and see how that goes. They congratulate him, Louis and Zayn patting him on the back and all, and Liam even whistles.

“You managed that without kidnapping him, then?”

“Nah, he said he wouldn’t mind it though, I think he’s one of those kinky types of lads.”

Harry's made it somehow, with the help of his boyfriend and best mates. And lots and lots of tea provided in his favorite kitten mug in the world. He starts cooking for himself again which is great, because Louis can’t cook for shit, and even began baking treats for his neighbours in his apartment building (to which they’ve dubbed him the Pastry Prince, for some reason, none of it having to do with Louis running around posting little signs that say “Pasty Prince for President 2014” around the building).

He’s hopeful. He has faith that even if he’s having a bad day it will get better.

Harry is happy.

**Author's Note:**

> please please please, if you have depression or anxiety please don't isolate yourself or hurt yourself. talk to someone who can help you. get help and take care or yourself. you matter, your overall health matters, and don't listen to people who don't care about your well-being.
> 
> and do what you love!
> 
> xx


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